Terry Brooks - First King of Shannara

Athabasca smiled. “You still believe so strongly in yourself. I am impressed. I admire you for your resolve, Bremen, but I think you misguided and deceived. Still, I am but one voice and not of a mind to make a decision on this by myself. Wait here with Captain Lock. I will call the Council together and ask it to consider your request. Will it choose to hear you or not? I shall leave it to them.”

He rapped sharply on the desk and the narrow back door to the chamber opened. Caerid Lock came through and saluted. “Stay with our guest,” Athabasca ordered, “until I return.”

Then he went out through the wide double doors at the front of the chamber without looking back.

Athabasca was gone for almost four hours. Bremen sat on a bench by one of the tall windows and stared out into the hazy light of the late afternoon. He waited patiently, knowing he could do little else. He talked with Caerid Lock for a time, catching up on the news of the Council’s work, discovering that it progressed in much the same way as it had for years, that little changed, that almost nothing was accomplished. It was depressing to hear, and Bremen soon gave up on pursuing his inquiries. He thought of what he would say to the Council and how its members might respond, but he knew in his heart it was an exercise in futility. He realized now why Athabasca had agreed to see him. The High Druid believed it better to admit him and hear him out than to dismiss him out of hand, better to give some semblance of consideration than to give none at all. But the decision was already made.

He would not be listened to. He was outcast, and he would not be allowed back in. Not for any reason, no matter how persuasive, how compelling. He was a dangerous man, in Athabasca’s mind—in the minds of others, too, he supposed. He used magic with disdain. He played with fire. There could be no listening to such a man. Not ever.

It was sad. He had come to warn them, but they were beyond his reach. He could feel it. He waited now only to have it confirmed.

Confirmation arrived swiftly on the heels of the four hours’ close. Athabasca came through the doors with the brusque attitude of a man with better things to get on to. “Bremen,” he greeted and dismissed him at the same time. He paid no attention to Caerid Lock at all, did not ask him to stay or go. “The Council has considered your request and rejected it. If you would like to submit it again in writing, it will be given to a committee to consider.” He sat down at his desk with a sheaf of papers and began studying them. The Eilt Druin glimmered brightly as it swung against his chest. “We are committed to a course of non-involvement with the Races, Bremen. What you seek would violate that rule. We must stay out of politics and inter-racial conflicts. Your speculations are too broad and entirely unsubstantiated. We cannot give them credence.”

He looked up. “You may supply yourself with whatever you need to continue your journey. Good luck to you. Captain Lock, please escort our guest back to the front gates.”

He looked down again. Bremen stared wordlessly, stunned in spite of himself at the abruptness of his dismissal. When Athabasca continued to ignore him, he said quietly, “You are a fool.”

Then he turned and followed Caerid back through the narrow door into the passageway that had brought them. Behind him, he heard the door close and lock.

Caerid Lock and Bremen descended the back stairs in silence, their footsteps echoing in lonely cadence through the twisting passageway. Behind them, the light from the landing and the door leading to the High Druid Athabasca’s chambers receded into blackness. Bremen fought to contain the bitterness that welled up within him. He had called Athabasca a fool, but maybe he was the real fool. Kinson had been right. Coming to Paranor had been a waste of time. The Druids were not prepared to listen to their outcast brother. They were not interested in his wild imaginings, in his attempts to insinuate himself back into their midst. He could see them turning to one another with amused, sarcastic glances as the High Druid informed them of his request. He could see them shaking their heads in resentment. His arrogance had blinded him to the size of the obstacle that he was required to surmount in order to gain their belief. If he could just speak to them, they would listen, he had thought. But he had not gotten the chance to do even that much. His confidence had undone him. His pride had tricked him. He had miscalculated badly.

Still, he countered, trying to salvage something from his failed effort, he had been right to try. At least he did not have to live with the guilt and pain he might feel later for having done nothing. Nor could he be certain of the result of his effort. Some good might yet come of his appearance, a small change in events and attitudes that he would not be able to discern until much later. It was wrong to dismiss his effort out of hand. Kinson might have been right about the end result, but neither of them could know that nothing would come of this visit.

“I am sorry you were not allowed to speak, Bremen,” Caerid said quietly, glancing over his shoulder.

Bremen looked up, aware how depressed he must seem. This was no time for self-indulgence. He had lost his chance to speak directly to the Council, but there were other tasks to be completed before he was dismissed from the Keep forever, and he must see to them.

“Caerid, would there be time for me to visit Kahle Rese before leaving?” he asked. “I need only a few moments.”

They stopped on the stairs and regarded each other, the frail-looking old man and the weathered Elf. “You were told to gather what you needed for your journey,” Caerid Lock observed. “There was nothing said about what those needs might be. I think a short visit would be in order.”

Bremen smiled. “I will never forget your efforts on my behalf, Caerid. Never.”

The other man gave a short wave of dismissal. “They were nothing, Bremen. Come.”

They continued along the stairs to a back passageway that took them through several doors and down another flight of stairs. All the time, Bremen was thinking. He had given his warning, for better or worse. It would be ignored by most, but those who would harken to it must be given what chance there was to survive the foolishness of the others. In addition, some effort must be made to protect the Keep. There was not a great deal he could do in the face of the Warlock Lord’s power, but he must do what little he could.

He would begin with Kahle Rese, his oldest and most trusted friend—even though he knew that once again he faced almost certain disappointment in his intended effort.

When they reached the doorway that led into the main hall, just a short distance from the libraries where Kahle spent his days, Bremen turned again to Caerid.

“Will you do me one more favor?” he asked the Elf. “Will you summon Risca and Tay Trefenwyd to speak with me? Have them wait in the passageway until I finish my visit with Kahle. I will meet them there. I give you my word I will go nowhere else and do nothing to violate the terms of my visit.”

Caerid looked away. “Your word is not necessary, Bremen. It never has been. Have your visit with Kahle. I’ll bring the other two and meet you here.”

He turned and went back up the stairs into the gloom. Bremen thought how lucky he was to be able to count Caerid among his friends. He remembered Caerid as a young man, still learning his craft, but intense and steady even then. Caerid had come from Arborlon and stayed on past his initial appointment, committed to the Druid cause. It was rare for a non-Druid to take such an interest. He wondered if Caerid would do so again, if given the chance to live his life over.